


kiss me on the mouth and set me free

by softlightwood



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Soft boys being soft, future malec, well not future but settled malec
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlightwood/pseuds/softlightwood
Summary: Alec dips his chin to gift Magnus' mouth with a kiss and Magnus melts into the soft seat, weightless and boneless and floating on air. Between the bend of his fingers Alec's dark hair is soft like silk. Up under the delicate sheer shirt covering his skin, Alec's fingers take Magnus apart by the waist, a cool push against warm skin, settling in like they're finally where they belong. Magnus would take endless moments of this over anything else, taking one another apart with their mouths, the irreplaceable sensation of being close and suspended together in a frozen moment in time.Shivers roll down Alec's spine like the soft waves lapping at the shore, the cause being a careful tendril of magic thrumming away like the gentle caress of a hand. He shifts forwards just a little and the swing-chair sways alarmingly; Magnus laughs softly against Alec's mouth. Lifting his head with a little more care, Alec kisses the point of Magnus' cheekbone and smiles down at him, mouth pink and kissed, eyes shining and fond. "Maybe we don't kiss on the swinging chair?""Maybe we don't kiss on the swinging chair" Magnus agrees





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends!! guess who finally, _finally_ convinced her brain to give her the writing ability back?
> 
> it's been a while but I still love these ridiculous soft boys and all this malec kissing has inspired me, so here's a tiny little drabble to warm up my writing muscles
> 
> enjoy!!
> 
> ps thank you @ trove sivan for the title

Music fluttered through the apartment like a gentle breeze, slipping beneath the closed doors upstairs and tousling the curtains dividing one long stretch of dining room from the kitchen. A small string of fairy lights glitter between the creeping vines on the balcony, having been threaded there by Alec a few weeks back after a philosophical argument on the political correctness of that particular name. Alexander is curled back into the plush swinging bench-chair, sipping on a glass of mulled wine - another addition to the very small list of alcohol he actively enjoyed drinking - and is reading pages from a book that Magnus has helpfully balanced by his face using soft tendrils of blue magic. Magnus himself is rather self-indulgently admiring Alec over the rim of his own glass, feet thrown comfortably over Alec's lap, his own novel long forgotten. The real story is in the gentle white light casting a glow over the upper part of Alec's face, catching on the honey-hazel of his eyes and illuminating a silvery-white scar wrapped around the base of his neck, remnants of an old rune. Magnus thinks he's very quietly pretty; lovely soft features so often hidden by a more stern, handsome face tend to make themselves known when Alec is absorbed in something like this. Every so often he lazily raises a hand to turn the page and Magnus sees the corner of his mouth twitch at the soft warmth of the magic touching at his fingertips, an extension of Magnus himself that reacts just as gently to Alec's presence.

That had been one of the more interesting milestones in their relationship; Alec rushing into the apartment and straight through a stream of magic that should have been strong enough to knock him off of his feet, the moment of horror that took ahold of Magnus at the mere _thought_ of being responsible for Alexander's hurt and then the soft surprise from Alec, the harsh rows of magic shifting into soft curls that sunk into his waist and curled up around his arms. It hadn't been immediately clear to Alec just what it meant that Magnus' power responded in such a way, that it represented the love Magnus felt for Alec right down to his very core, so strong that even his magic recognised and wanted to protect him from harm. Now, though, Alec liked to poke at Magnus' magic no matter what he was doing with it, like teasing a puppy for attention.

Inside, the radio shifts onto the next song and the brief lapse in sound disrupts the immersion Alec has been tucked into for the past hour; he blinks, slowly, clearing the tiredness from his eyes and then they slip sideways, taking his head with them until he's glancing down at Magnus with a curious expression, "what happened to your book?"

Absent-mindedly he brings a hand down to rest on the warm curve of Magnus' ankle, thumb stroking the strip of skin between the cuff of his trousers and the top of his shoe. Magnus hums. "There were more interesting things holding my attention" he explains, voice smooth like thick honey. Alec raises an eyebrow and his twinkling eyes betray the smile that his lips are twitching to hold back.

"Is that so?"

Again, Magnus hums, and this time his wrist curves up in an elegant arc in order to make the book Alec had been reading drop gently, still open, to the side-table; a question. One that Alec answers without pause, slipping his hand down to curve around Magnus' fingers so that he might sit up against Alec's side, chest bumping Alec's elbow, and open his lips for a soft kiss the flavour of berry wine. Alec's fingers find the sharp contours of Magnus' jaw and Magnus holds himself in place with his hands, careful around Alec's wrists. They trade soft, sweet kisses until Magnus' mouth feels warm and fuzzy and his legs have started to numb from their awkward position, and even then he is reluctant to let go of the moment.

Perhaps it's naive of him; but Magnus still feels a sense of wonder or surprise when Alec handles him gently, having seen those hands hold a bow or a dagger - it seems paradoxical that the hand that kills can be the hand that cradles, but Alec gently slips his palms behind Magnus' back and lowers him into the seat, following with his body soon after. His knees press into the cushion either side of Magnus' thighs and his shoulders cast a shadow where he leans over Magnus, eyes sparkling with a comfortable kind of mischief.

"Hey," Alec whispers, voice slipping beneath the music, "I love you"

There's something so soft about him, when he says those three words, loose shoulders, ruffled hair, crinkled eyes and he's not scared anymore. Alexander hasn't been scared for a long time, he knows this, knows _them_ , will tell Magnus he loves him and kiss his waiting mouth and hold his hand in the middle of a war because he stopped fighting himself and finally found his place. Magnus smiles, warm and gentle. "As I love you, my dear Alexander"

Alec dips his chin to gift Magnus' mouth with a kiss and Magnus melts into the soft seat, weightless and boneless and floating on air. Between the bend of his fingers Alec's dark hair is soft like silk. Up under the delicate sheer shirt covering his skin, Alec's fingers take Magnus apart by the waist, a cool push against warm skin, settling in like they're finally where they belong. Magnus would take endless moments of this over anything else, taking one another apart with their mouths, the irreplaceable sensation of being close and suspended together in a frozen moment in time.

Shivers roll down Alec's spine like the soft waves lapping at the shore, the cause being a careful tendril of magic thrumming away like the gentle caress of a hand. He shifts forwards just a little and the swing-chair sways alarmingly; Magnus laughs softly against Alec's mouth. Lifting his head with a little more care, Alec kisses the point of Magnus' cheekbone and smiles down at him, mouth pink and kissed, eyes shining and fond. "Maybe we don't kiss on the swinging chair?"

"Maybe we don't kiss on the swinging chair" Magnus agrees, "Besides, I do happen to have an antique chaise longue which offers twice the comfort and almost none of the movement"

Alec raises both eyebrows. "Almost none?"

"Well, I got it from a rather pesky younger warlock back in the late eighteen hundreds.." Magnus begins, trailing off when he sees the incredulous look Alexander is giving him. Considering Alec ordinarily loves nothing more than hearing Magnus ramble on about one memory or another, Magnus can only assume this particular facial expression is happening because Alec has definitely reclined on that chaise longue before now, and he's definitely hoping it isn't possessed. "What, was I supposed to write up a full disclosure of all of my magically-influenced possessions? I can definitely get a start on that novel-length saga, it might be ready before you move in?"

Something in Alec's posture tightens, but he's smiling in a way that is wholly unabashed, " _when_ I move in?" he asks, and Magnus flushes from head to toe.

"Oh," he stumbles, "I just meant, of course - well, I was implying -"

"Magnus" Alec interrupts calmly, thumb soft against the curve of Magnus' cheek, "It's okay. I thought you'd never ask"

"Oh," Magnus repeats, a soft exhalation, "really? You'd want that? With me?"

In lieu of a proper response, Alec kisses him soft and sweet. Beneath his skin, Magnus' magic is vibrating with nervous energy and Alec can feel it, smooths his fingers along the veins in his forearms and kisses the dainty Warlock-sigil behind his ear. "There is nothing, Magnus Bane, that I'd want more"

Magnus pushes up onto his elbows to kiss Alec again, fierce and sure and elated, and the swing-chair lurches so quickly that Alec almost topples off the edge. One foot pushed into the tile floor is all that saves him from an uncomfortable demise and Magnus can't quite hide the laughing smile that takes over his own expression, especially when faced with Alec's affronted stare. Slowly, softly, Alec lifts himself into a standing position and his fingers sweep down Magnus' arm to pick up his hand, standing but unwilling to break away from the intimacy of the moment. As one soft song switches into another, Magnus allows himself to be pulled into the loft by his fingers, linked with Alec's, until they come to pause in the centre of the fur rug, directly beneath the French chandelier. 

Alec takes Magnus by the jaw and offers him a sweetened kiss, fingers brushing the short bristles of hair at the back of his neck as Magnus winds his arms around the dip of Alec' waist. Outside, the sun is beginning to set, washes of peachy-pink over gentle gold, and Alec drapes his arms over Magnus' shoulders, forehead tipped down against Magnus' own and his feet, as though of their own accord, begin a slow and gentle step to the song swirling around the room. Magnus hums, "I thought Shadowhunters didn't dance?"

"I thought I'd make an exception" Alec murmurs, "the things I do for love"

"Yes" Magnus agrees on a laugh, "my strong, brave Shadowhunter entreating me to a slow dance"

The song isn't one that Alec knows, really, a tinkling tune in an old language - something Germanic, maybe. Fairly early on Alec had learned that the music Magnus played around his apartment often came straight from his own memories, songs of centuries past that were kept alive only by the saccharine singing of a warlock making dinner. Against the shell of his ear Magnus is singing along, voice curving around the syllables like a shroud of velvet and the love that swells in the depths of Alec's heart is so overwhelming that it feels like he's just pushed to the surface, finally taking in air again, finally letting everything settle into place. Magnus is tracing the pattern of the _love_ rune into the small of Alec's back with his fingers and if anything exists at all outside of the bubble they're in, Alec doesn't want it. 

"Tell me about this one" Alec asks softly, a murmur. 

"The Netherlands" Magnus tells him, "Eighteen-Thirteen. Ragnor and I were nearing the end of our alphabetical tour of the world and we were in the city of Utrecht, a very religious mundane place that was populated with downworld folk interested in living a quiet life. A friend of ours had taken up residence there and we had him show us the sights of the town, and eventually he showed us a - the word can't really be translated, but it was a gentle kind of bar. Alcohol on tap, but the patrons rarely had more than one drink. Music, but a band of four fae ladies in soft white dresses, singing ballads and hymns and soft sounds of love. It was a beautiful place"

It seems that Magnus goes somewhere else, when he's remembering something that happened a long time ago. Alec has noticed the wistful, far-away look in his eyes, the sensation that Magnus isn't really present - this close, Alec feels a pull toward that place, that time, finds himself lost in the words coming from a Magnus he'd never known. Magnus smiles.

"We were a few hours in to the night and this very song sunk into the atmosphere and had lovers following the lilting tune into the centre of the room, twining around one another. Ragnor made a quip or two and we danced with one another - he was a terrible dancer, mind you, four left feet and a propensity for stepping on my toes. Still, we stumbled around to the sound of romance and he told me, quite sincerely, that one day I would find someone who made this song mean something to me. Of course, then the atmosphere dissipated and the music changed, and dear Ragnor tripped me over into a very disgruntled djinn"

Alec kisses his temple, once, and asks, "well, did you?"

"Did I what, my love?"

"Ever find someone who made that song mean something?"

Magnus pulls back just a touch, just enough to level Alec with a sincere stare. Perhaps poignantly, the deep brown of his eyes fades into a startling golden-yellow, pretty cat's eyes that Alec resolutely adores telling a thousand words. Softer yet, Magnus stretches onto his toes that they might be level, voice thick with something wrenching when he whispers, "I'm looking at him"

Words don't come straight away; Alec thinks to insist that many came before him, that he can't have been the first to touch Magnus' heart like this, that Magnus must be sparing feelings he knows Alec doesn't harbour by avoiding the topic of a past love. Then he thinks that Magnus is not just the man Alec has before him: he is a hundred lives, different times and shapes, different places and people, and if this version of Magnus, the one Alec has the privilege to love is telling him that he loves him so strongly it makes him think of old love songs, then it must be so. Then it doesn't matter if he's felt this before. Instead, Magnus speaks.

"Even someone as old as I believe in the notion that someone out there, somewhere, is the perfect fit for your soul to hold. I have loved before" he pauses, "but not, I think, quite like this"

"I haven't loved before" Alec replies, quiet and careful, "but this...I don't want to know any other love. Yours is it, _ours_ is it. I love you"

"And I you, my sweet Shadowhunter" and Magnus kisses him, sugar-sweet. 

**Author's Note:**

> as always follow me on tumblr @ softlightwood!!
> 
> (this one didn't really _do_ anything, but I'm a sucker for useless flouncy prose and boys being intimate so hopefully my brain will let me _keep_ the creativity and I'll work on some stories some time soon)


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